The Joy Luck Club

by Amy Tan

"My father hasn't eaten well since my mother died. So I am here, in the kitchen, to cook him dinner. I'm slicing tofu. I've decided to make him a spicy bead-curd dish. My mother used to tell me how hot things restore the spirit and health But I'm making this mostly because I know my father loves this dish and how to cook it. I like the smell of it: ginger, scallions, and a red chili sauce that tickles my nose the minute I open the jar." 
pg. 209

"And she was slicing with such a ferocity, seemingly inattentive to her sharp cleaver, that I was afraid her fingertips would become one of the ingredients of the red-cooked eggplant and shredded pork dish." pg. 177

"The wonton soup smells wonderful with delicate sprigs of cilantro floating on top. I'm drawn first to a large platter of chaswei, sweet barbecued pork cut into coin-sized slices, and then to a whole assortment of what I've always called finger goodies, thin-skinned pastries filled with chopped pork, beef, shrimp, and unknown stuffings that my mother used to describe as 'nurtritious things.'" pg. 31

"I never thought my mother's Kweilin story was anything but a Chinese fairy tale. The endings always changed. Sometimes she said she used that worthless thousand-yuan note to buy a half-cup of rice. She turned that rice into a pot of porridge. She traded that gruel for two feet from a pig. Those two feet became six eggs, those eggs six chickens. The story always grew and grew." pg. 25

"We didn't notice that the dumplings were stuffed mostly with stringy squash and that the oranges were spotted with wormy holes." pg. 23

"She was chopping eggplant into wedges, chattering at the same time about Auntie Suyuan: 'She can only cook looking at a recipe. My instructions are in my fingers. I know what secret ingredients to put in just by using my nose!'" pag. 177

"She brought out her old wooden board and cleaver, then chopped the ginger and scallions, and poured soy sauce and sesame oil into a shallow dish." pg. 200